


Parklife

by lachatblanche



Category: Captain America (Movies), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Post TWS, sort of canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:35:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve goes running in the park to try and forget. </p>
<p>One day, while there, he meets a strange man in a wheelchair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parklife

Steve sat at the bench, allowing his heart rate to return to normal. It had taken him to his fifteenth lap to finally admit that this wasn’t working: instead of clearing his mind as he had hoped, the run had only given him more time within his own head, and more time inside his own head meant only one thing these days.

He was thinking about Bucky.

Steve swallowed, clamping down on the wash of emotions that threatened to sweep over him at the thought of his old friend. A wave of bitterness soon followed, as it always did whenever Bucky’s name came up. 

It was all his fault. Everything that Bucky had become, everything that he had gone through – it was all Steve’s fault. And now that he knew about the Winter Soldier ... Everything that Bucky did – all the blood that he had on his hands – could all be laid at Steve’s feet too. He hadn’t been able to save him and now Bucky was … well, who knew what he was. Steve was still getting a handle on the nature of his own near-impossible existence; Bucky was something else entirely. 

Whatever he was, though, it was Steve’s fault. And there was nothing that he could do to change that.

‘You’re wrong, you know.’

Steve jerked back at the voice, before immediately twisting his neck around, his entire body reacting to the sudden interruption of his thoughts by tensing and instinctively shifting. He held himself completely still as he cast an eye over the stranger who had silently approached his side on the park bench, trying to determine whether or not the newcomer was a threat. He didn’t _look_ particularly threatening – at least not on first glance – but Steve knew better than most how appearances could be deceiving. 

Still, he couldn’t help thinking, he very much doubted that the stranger seated in the wheelchair next to him had any sort of nefarious plot in mind. The man was dressed neatly in a suit and had kind blue eyes that made it almost impossible for Steve to take him as any kind of a serious threat. Yet still Steve didn’t relax.

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ he asked instead, wondering whether the man next to him knew who he was or if he was just in the habit of striking up conversation with anyone he came across.

The man chuckled and turned to face Steve, smiling. ‘I said that you are wrong,’ he said kindly, watching patiently as Steve’s eyebrows drew together. ‘And yes, I am very well aware of who you are, Mr. Rogers.’

‘It’s Steve,’ Steve said absently, still frowning as he regarded the man in front of him. ‘And what exactly am I wrong about, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Not at all,’ the man said courteously. ‘And please, call me Charles. As for what you are wrong about – well, you were thinking that your friend’s misfortunes are your fault. You are wrong about that. I understand why you might think so, but believe me – you are wrong. What happened wasn’t your fault.’

Steve’s back had gone rigid. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said tightly, trying his best not to let his emotions show on his face. ‘But I don’t believe that you are qualified to make judgements like that.’ He suddenly paused, frowning. ‘And how did you-’

‘Know what you were thinking?’ the man gently interrupted him. ‘Well, let’s just say that some people have super-strength and agility while others …’ _can do this_. The last few words were not said aloud; instead, even as Steve fixed his eyes on the stranger’s closed mouth, the words echoed in his head, spoken in the same crisp British accent that the stranger in front of him had used.

‘I told you,’ the man said almost reprovingly, as if reacting to Steve’s thoughts of the man. ‘It’s _Charles_.’

‘Right,’ Steve said slowly, his eyebrows still drawn together as he scrutinised the man in front of him. ‘Charles. So you’re telling me that you can – what – read minds?’

The man smiled slightly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Among other things.’

Steve allowed this to sink in, all the while never moving his eyes away from Charles. ‘Okay,’ he said after a moment, finally choosing to simply go along with things and accept the man’s words. ‘That’s … actually not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.’

Charles raised an eyebrow at that but he nevertheless looked amused. ‘I imagine that you’ve seen quite a few things in your time,’ he murmured, before his smile faded and he took on a more compassionate expression. ‘Which brings me back to my original point – what happened with your friend wasn’t your fault.’

Steve swallowed, his suspicion abruptly departing and being replaced with his previous moroseness. ‘If you can truly read minds,’ he said, looking away for the first time since Charles had approached. ‘Then you know that isn’t true.’

‘On the contrary,’ Charles’s voice was soft when he spoke and Steve was startled by the gentle touch of fingers on his shoulder. ‘It is _because_ I can read minds that I know that what I am saying is the truth. What happened to Bucky wasn’t your fault, Steve. You mustn’t ever think that.’

‘Then whose fault _is_ it?’ Steve asked harshly, not really expecting an answer.

Charles shrugged. ‘HYDRA’s,’ he said simply. ‘SHIELD’s. The world’s.’ His expression became serious as he met Steve’s eyes. ‘Not yours though. And definitely not in the way you think it is. You can’t blame yourself for things you have no control over, Steve. And believe me,’ his tone suddenly turned wry, causing Steve to glance up curiously. ‘No one knows the perils of blaming oneself for the loss of a friend better than I do.’

‘You do?’ Steve asked, curious despite himself.

‘Oh yes,’ Charles gave him a dry smile. ‘Believe it or not, you’re not the only one whose … _best friend_ took a different path and who now stands for everything that you’ve ever worked against.’

Steve eyed him for a moment. ‘There’s a story there’ he said after a pause.

Charles sighed. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes there is.’

‘And this … friend of yours,’ Steve said slowly. ‘He’s … you don’t see him anymore?’

‘On and off,’ Charles said honestly, shrugging a little. ‘Sometimes on the battlefield, so to speak. And the other times …’

Steve waited for him to continue. ‘And the other times?’ he repeated, urging the man on.

Charles smiled. ‘The other times,’ he said, a soft expression spreading over his face, ‘We meet at the park to play chess.’

Steve blinked and then his eyes widened. ‘Oh,’ he said, as if realising something.

Charles smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said, before reaching out and placing his hand over Steve’s and meeting his eyes. ‘No gulf is ever too wide to cross, if we are determined to do so.’ He gave Steve a pointed look. ‘You would do well to remember that, Mr. Rogers.’

Steve nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yeah,’ he said slowly. ‘I guess I will.’

‘Good,’ Charles nodded. ‘That’s all I wanted to say, really.’ He glanced down at his wrist, looking at the face of his watch. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have an appointment to keep.’

Steve nodded and watched silently as Charles slowly began to wheel himself away from the bench. Before he could go too far, however, Steve found himself calling after him. 

‘Charles,’ he called, hesitating slightly when the man in question turned around with a raised eyebrow. ‘The man you’re talking about – your friend … Is there any chance … will he ever join you again?’

Charles watched him quietly for a moment. Then he smiled a small, wistful smile. ‘Oh, I hope so,’ he said quietly. ‘I hope so every single day.’ And with one final nod at Steve, he turned away again and slowly wheeled himself off, away from the park bench that Steve was sitting on.

Steve sat there for a minute, going over everything that had been said. The sun shone brightly overhead and, what with the noise and the laughter of children playing nearby, it almost seemed to Steve that he had imagined the whole meeting. Only the tread marks of the wheelchair indicated that it had been anything more than a part of Steve’s imagination.

Steve stared at the tracks for a moment. Then he shook his head and stood up. Perhaps coming out for a run hadn’t been all that bad an idea, he thought to himself as he straightened up. He ran a hand through his hair and then glanced down at his watch. He had been out here for almost an hour. It was high time that he got back.

Moving away from the bench, Steve cast a quick glance around him. After a moment, he smiled and then took off, running at a steady pace, away from the park and towards the noise and crowds of civilisation.

Behind him, two figures leaned intimately over a stone chess table, their fingers almost brushing as they moved their pieces ever closer together.


End file.
